"Jimmy Jack, get your ass up!"

  This was not the Kingdom of Hydenfell. It was another mythical world full of rogues and monsters: Ohio. Like many young fantasy champions, our hero was still aslumber but he was no knight-in-training. His name was Jimmy Jack Doyle and he was getting an early 10:30 wake-up call courtesy of his housemate, who also birthed him over three decades prior.

  "God, I'm up," Jimmy Jack was none too pleased those four hours of rest were over in the blink of an eye. After another pounding knock 15 minutes later, our protagonist rose to his feet and scratched the ass side of his boxers emblazoned with cartoon hamburgers and French fries.

  Continuing to drag ass, it was clear Jimmy Jack had never known the obligation of punctuality. Sporadically-employed, he had just finished a gig where he had put in his two weeks' notice during orientation. Hopping into the tub for a quick shower, he did the bare minimum when it came to hygiene, neglecting to trim his beard that was moderate in length but thick and jagged like a porcupine's spikes and willing to look like a 1970s sleazeball if it meant not taking minutes away from his oh-so-precious to shave his unkempt mustache. After a courtesy cleaning of his eroding enamel, which was totally rotting away due to cursed and unavoidable genetics and not the pond's worth of green soda he had slugged down over his life, it was time to start the day.

  "Jimmy Jack, you better not be back in bed!"

  "UGH!"

  The honorable JJ groaned and meandered to his PC, completely ignoring the four new job openings Indeed had E-mailed him overnight. Booting up Red Dead Redemption 2, Jimmy Jack made sure to alert his iPhone to snap him out of his yee-hawlin every so often so he didn't get blood clots again. Before he had a chance to take down a legendary gator, mom jump-scared him from behind.

  "Are you ready? Grandma and grandpa will be here at 2:30."

  "Ugh, that's not this weekend is it?"

  "Jimmy Jack, don't tell me you forgot about the camping trip?"

  "Do I have to go? I'm feeling a bit....blah."

  "Go to bed sooner and you'll feel better. Now get out for a second so I can clean. This room is a mess!"

  Jimmy Jack rolled his eyes. Mom was alright and all, but why did she have to bust his balls all the time? His room was fine. Always was. Sure, the bed was mussed, some crumbs from midnight snacks hadn't made their way to the trash and there were a few teeny-tiny toenail clippings YOU COULD BARELY SEE but his video games were perfectly slotted into place. Hell, looked spic and span to him!

  "How about instead of going camping, we do literally anything else?" Jimmy Jack pleaded. This was grandma and grandpa's thing with dad and he knew mom was as indoorsy as he was. Why did she never join him on the right side? Sure, as a man who graduated high school during Obama's first term, he technically had the clout to veto his role in the trip but he knew deep down three days alone would leave him a rotted skeleton on the couch. There were children more self-sufficient and toasters more independent than Jimmy Jack Doyle.

  "They're in their late 70s, Jimmy Jack," his mom unleashed her finishing move: The Guilt Trip. "Who knows how much time they have left?"

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  While Jimmy Jack was a selfish, petty, goofy, immature, irrational, impulsive, scatter-brained, gluttonous, unfocused, unmotivated, envious, mouthy, arrogant and poorly-smelling person, he was no sociopath. He cared deeply for his family. He just wished they were less like themselves and more exactly like him. Sure, Jimmy Jack and the 'rents lived in a small rural town near the Kentucky and West Virginia borders but that didn't mean JJ subscribed to agrarian living. Having spent the first ten years of his life deep in the holler, Jimmy Jack cried tears of joy when they finally moved within a half-mile from the local Wendy's. He was no hunter; no fisherman. He didn't care for ATVs or roughing it. He was proudly powered by Wi-Fi.

  "Fine. I'll go," Mrs Doyle was glad he came around although she knew in her heart it wasn't going to be smooth sailing with him.

  Jimmy Jack began to regret his decision the second the service went out; even more when pops followed grandpa's RV into the thickets. Were they not staying in the lodge? The one that had air hockey tables, a full arcade and pizza and wings? He had barely signed up for that! He wouldn't last a day out in the wilderness. Why did his elders have to have some macho BS to prove? Why couldn't they embrace their beta-ness like he did? This was going to be a nightmare and they hadn't even parked yet.

  "Smell that?" Pap-Pap Doyle took a big whiff of the isolated air.

  "Smells like shit," Jimmy Jack was quick to joke.

  "Jimmy Jack," Mama shot him a dirty look. They were going to enjoy themselves. She, nor anybody else, wanted to hear any of his 'riffing.'

  JJ soon found himself between a rock and a hard place. Did he face his arch-nemesis, manual labor, and help the other men fetch kindling (which they were adamant he need not come) or did he stay with grandma and mom and hear tales from Facebook? If only he had planned his Nintendo Switch's battery life out better. This was the worst thing happening to anybody, anywhere. Needing a distraction, Jimmy Jack sat on a lawn chair, furrowed his face in concentration and began mentally rattling off movies that were released between 2000-2009, giving himself one point for each film named. See, you could call him Jimmy "Didn't Know" Jack when it came to math or astrophysics but JJ was gifted in his own way. For instance: he knew precisely when a lot of movies came out.

  "We're back," dad announced their return after Jimmy Jack had listed 568 motion pictures of the 2010s. He had even remembered the lost-to-time Yogi Bear film from the decade's first year.

  Mr Doyle and his father made the campfire. Earl Doyle had made hundreds of them in his life, in addition to the 50+ years he had logged as a mechanic. In his opinion, a man's hands were his best tool. It was so gratifying to use one's grit to create. Now retired from back-breaking, he had earned a little time to reconnect to his roots. He had earned some peace. He had earned some quiet.

  "BRRRPPPPP," Jimmy Jack, face smudged with a crude collection of ketchup, mustard, marshmallow and chocolate, punctuated his four second belch by crunching up his third soft drink of the weenie-roast. "I need to take a piss!"

  "Do you need me to follow you, son?"

  "I'll be fine!"

  "Wipe your face," Mrs Doyle directed.

  "Ok," Jimmy Jack snapped and poorly rubbed his features with the long sleeve of his whitest shirt; attire as impractical as the blue jeans that were also serving as napkins.

  Jimmy Jack was sure he could hear comments about his inadequacies behind him so he continued to march until he was positive he could pee in peace without being told what a huge sack of shit he was. Drenching a bush in a urine stream that would have outlasted a three challenger gauntlet at the Wal-Mart urinals, Jimmy Jack was ready to head back. However, the darkness, and his generally poor sense of direction, caused him to get lost. If you asked him, it wasn't his fault. There was no need for anyone to be up here. He should have been in bed, getting ready to watch that Megan Fox triple feature on Netflix. Sure, the plots looked boilerplate but Jimmy Jack still thought she was "foine."

  "The hell?" Jimmy collected his balance after a stumble caused by an unknown assassin. Looking back to spot the tripper, he failed to see a second, bigger root that completely knocked him off his feet. Hot Rod was his favorite movie but it wasn't fun recreating one of the iconic scenes.

  The fall was so disorienting, Jimmy Jack failed to notice the metaphysical hole that awaited at the bottom of the slapstick gag; one that had stood there for centuries. It took someone really uncoordinated to locate the doorway to answering Princess Jacinta's plea.